


Know I Believe and How

by Zeryx



Series: So, a Hunter and an Angel go on a date... [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Castiel, Awkward Flirting, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Kissing, M/M, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx/pseuds/Zeryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Cas has been holed up in the bunker binge-watching for weeks, Dean decides their pocket angel needs to put himself out there and learn how to fit in better with human society. By taking him on a date. For practice. Totally not a real date.</p><p>Or: The one where Cas and Dean go on a date to the Smoky Hill fair.</p><div class="center">
  <p>***</p>
</div>"You want to stick with us, right? That means fitting in. So how about it? We do a little role-playing—<p>"You mean, like with nurses and light domination?"</p><p>Dean chokes, then pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not that kinda' role-playing, Cas. Like, play-acting. Let's pretend we don't know each-other, and go on a date."</p><p>"But if we don't know each-other, why would we go on a date?"</p><p>Dean flashes the angel a grin. "Oh I dunno, you're hot, I'm hot.... I think there could be something there."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know I Believe and How

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Beatles song "Something". Thanks as always to my dedicated beta reader and bosom chum, [hit_the_books](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books)!

Dean puts on coffee in the bunker's kitchen and lies in wait—studiedly casual—for Castiel. Before the pot can finish brewing, the angel shuffles in, bleary-eyed, and pours himself a cup of joe. Once Cas has gotten a few swallows in, Dean clears his throat. "Cas, you uh... ever been on a date?" Dean rubs the back of his neck, shyly darting glances at his friend. "You've been stuck here binge-watching, it'd be good to get out and see what regular humans do."  
  
"I have little time for such frivolities, Dean." Cas is wearing an old army blanket like a shroud, barefooted in the kitchen, clutching a cup of coffee with an expression that screams _why does ten am exist_?  
  
"It's just, I get that things in Idaho didn't pan out. You were stuck on diaper duty instead, and that really sucks. You want to stick with us, right? That means fitting in. So how about it? We do a little role-playing—"  
  
"You mean, like with nurses and light domination?" Cas takes a suspicious sip of his coffee, squinty-eyed.  
  
Dean chokes, then pinches the bridge of his nose. "Not that kinda' role-playing, Cas. Like, play-acting. Let's pretend we don't know each-other, and go on a date."  
  
"But if we don't know each-other, why would we go on a date?"  
  
Dean flashes the angel a grin. "Oh I dunno, you're hot, I'm hot.... I think there could be something there."  
  
Folding his arms, the angel tilts his head to one side, as if contemplating navigation of a tricky thermal. "Alright. Then how did we meet?"  
  
"Slow down there, cowboy. I guess we havta meet. I'll wingman you anytime, but I guess knowing how to get a date in the first place is where to start. I mean, if you don't even know how to flirt, a date's probably not gonna' happen..."  
Dean takes Cas's mug from where it's dangling off one hand, precariously close to spilling and steals a few sips.  
  
Cas frowns and tightens his fingers around his bicep with a shudder. "Perhaps if I had, things like that incident with Hael could've been avoided... if I'd... known the signs."  
  
"Huh? Who was Hael?" Dean puts the half-empty mug down on the counter.  
  
Looking at the floor, lost in memory, the angel takes a breath before letting it out. "She was the first angel one who found me after the angels fell. At first her company was welcome, but it quickly became clear that... that her intentions were "less than pure." Castiel looks up at Dean, meeting his friend's gaze, refusing to fidget. "She hit me with a plank of wood."  
  
"Whoa, Cas! You never told me this! We talking full-on "Misery" here?"  
  
"Ironically, she was the one who ended up hobbled. I believe she said something to the effect of we were "going to become one." She wished to possess my vessel. In order to "protect me." When I refused, she threatened to tell the Host where I was..." Cas shuts his eyes. "She made the Grand Canyon and I ended her life."  
  
 Stunned, Dean covers it by thumping Cas on the shoulder. "Well, it's ancient history, right? Besides, I don't think another angel is much of a benchmark for picking up humans. Don't worry about it, buddy. So, you in?"  
  
"Assuredly. Let us begin this farce." Cas opens his eyes, looking resigned.  
  
 Dean gives him a thumbs-up. "Alright, now we're getting somewhere. Get Sammy to give you a hand with your clothes. Ladies love a fella in a suit, but you're stiff enough as-is, so first you gotta look like you're blending in."  
  
 Castiel licks his lips, then cuts his eyes up to Dean's. "Does this mean you are intending to role-play as a female?"  
  
"Crap. I hadn't thought of that. Um, well dating is dating. It can't be that different regardless of what kinda' parts you got."  
  
Right side of his lips twitching up in a smile, Castiel holds his gaze. "A surprisingly enlightened attitude, Dean. Regardless, if you're not wearing a wig, I am going to be badly disappointed."  
  
Dean blows out a breath. "Setting me up for failure before we even get outta the gate. Well, we _could_ put you inna dress instead. Ever think of that?"  
  
Castiel slowly, deliberately licks his lips, voice dropping a little, "No, but I bet you have."  
It should look ridiculous with Cas wearing a blanket, bundled up like a _babushka_ , but somehow it still makes Dean's heart beat a little faster. Blushing a little, Dean backs away, waving Cas off. "Whoa there, buddy. Maybe you got more of a handle on this then I thought!"  
  
"I suppose we'll see. Sam's in his room?"  
  
"Yeah, go bug him. Then take your car and follow me to Salina."  
  
"That's two hours away, Dean."  
  
"Buck and a half if we push it. And I got two words: chili cook-off." Dean grins, eyes lighting up.  
  
Cas sighs, shakes his head. "If you insist." Without a further word, he snags his coffee back off the counter and stalks off to find Sam. It's times like these Castiel really misses Jimmy.  
  


***

About two and a half hours later, the two friends meet up again inside a cozy little coffee shop where tonnes of college kids are busy chatting, texting, and downing java.

"So..." Dean purses his lips. "Yoga clothes, Cas?" The angel is in 3/4 length navy yoga pants, sneakers, a tank-top and a full zip athletic jacket, huge blocks of colour, half-collar, sweat-vents and all.

Castiel looks at Dean, one eyebrow raised. "Sam mentioned you were fond of yoga instructors. He believed this might make it easier for you to "play the part."

"Ain't that just a laugh and a half. Now I gotta' stare at your butt all damn day."

Cas merely arches his eyebrow further, "Is that so?" Dean glares at the menu board and doesn't reply. "Well, then shall we begin?"

"Ok. Listen," Dean licks his lips. "You're gonna have to try to pick me up, because you're a dude, and that's just how shit works. So, pretend you don't know me. Look at me really close, but _don't be obvious about it_ and try to figure out a common topic of conversation, or a small favour you can ask me to do for you.  You can  **do** this, Cas. Then, once we've introduced ourselves, ask me what my plans for the day are and see if you can work yourself into 'em. Don't ask yes or no questions. _And remember to smile._ OK?"

Nodding, brow furrowed in concentration, Cas nods once. "Alright."

"OK." Dean squares his shoulders. "And... go." He turns his back to Cas, and they wait in line single file for coffee.

 Castiel looks at Dean intently, interspersed by looking outside or up at the menu board. Under cover of scratching his neck, he tilts his head down and scans the hunter from head to foot. The high noon sun beaming through the window turns the ends of his hair filigreed. Dean's wearing the red shirt he's really fond of, shoulders tense beneath, and no jacket in the warmth of late September. The sleeves are rolled up, displaying hard forearms and his omnipresent watch that shows the current lunar phase. His jeans slouch down on his hips but are free of tears; they look worn soft from use. They cover half of his usual pair of brown boots, which are equally well-loved. They have advanced several spots in line, and Dean drums his fingers on one arm, head nodding down to check his watch before he looks over his shoulder. He catches Cas looking, then does a double take.

"Hi," the angel smiles.

"Hey uh, can I help you?" Dean turns to look at Cas, doing that batman turn that's all shoulders first as he sizes him up.

"I noticed your watch tracks phases of the moon; it looks rather intricate and well-made. Is it accurate?"

"Uh yeah, in my line of work you need stuff built to last. Having the moon on there is just a bonus."

"I see. I was unable to look very close, what does it say?"

"What do you care? Three-quarters full."

"I am likely going to be out well into evening and was wondering if the fair is going to be overrun by lunatics."

Dean laughs, "Well uh, guy, no worries there. No full moon tonight." They get to the front of the line and Dean orders his coffee. He pays the cashier and walks away from Cas without a backward glance.  Castiel orders his own coffee and frowns. Had he done something wrong? This was the part where they'd introduce themselves, was it not? Dean takes his coffee black, but he's loitering by the condiments station, grabbing napkins, so the angel follows as quickly as possible.

There were different levels of politeness, Castiel recalls, and they're in public and strangers, so he goes for most polite. "Can you pass me some napkins, please?"

"Sure, pal." Dean does so and their fingers touch. Then he continues to linger, blowing on his coffee.

"Castiel. Thank-you. Are you in town for the fair as well?"

"Dean. Oh yeah," Dean grins, looking up at Cas, and the angel wonders if this is how Dean looks to people all the time, without him or his brother around: how easy and charming he is. "Chili cook-off! Had to grab some coffee to go with, then I'm beating feet straight over there before it's all gone."

"That is why I'm here, as well," Castiel says with heavy irony, putting a lid on his paper cup.

"You uh.... don't look like you're from around here. You come far?" Dean turns away from the coffee station and starts heading towards the door.

"Yes. A couple hours away."

"You must really love chili. You don't look like the type, though."

"Appearances can be deceiving." They exit the shop, admiring the different colours of fall leaves before the typical winds of the plains have stripped the trees. "I have heard chocolate also goes excellently with chili. What is your stance on that?"

"Yeah, pretty good..." Dean takes a sip of coffee; they pass the Sacred Heart cathedral on 9th street. "Gotta say I prefer that fried bread with honey the native Americans are fond of, instead. What's that called again?"

"Navajo fry bread, I believe. Yes, that is an excellent choice."

"Yeah. You can use it to scoop up the chili too, if you get bored of using a spoon."

"I shall have to try that, if there is any available. May I join you?"

"Sure, it's a free country and all." Dean flashes Cas a smile. "You're not meeting up with anyone, then?"

"I am here on my own recognizance. I did not know anyone else interested in going." Cas lets another small smile play on his lips at the irony.

Dean holds up two hands in a t for time-out. "You gotta' stop trying to break the fourth wall, Cas, you're gonna' make me break character if you keep that up."

"Alright. I will try."

"Good, you're doing great. Just keep your head in the game, OK?"

"Sure." Cas's lips twitch up slightly in a smile, the glare from the high sun overhead washing him out and picking out colours usually not seen in his dark brown hair. Dean lets out a startled breath, green eyes burnished light, catching at the fine curve of his friend's collarbones as a minor breeze plays with his hair and blows his jacket open a little wider.

"OK: game on," Dean mumbles. Cas nods. They resume walking, turning onto Iron avenue.  
"Handsome fella like yourself couldn't find somebody to choke a few beans down with? Guess you're hanging with the wrong crowd."

"That's alright; I've met you." Cas smiles, a sliver of teeth visible on one side. Dean blushes a little, but meets his gaze squarely, reminding himself he's just playing a part.

"Nice meeting you too, Cas, right? I can call you that?"

"Though we've just met, it feels right. That is what everyone calls me, anyway. Anyone who matters, that is."

 Dean smiles, bathing in the indirect compliment; he can't remember the last time he called Castiel by his full name, even when praying to the guy. "So what do you do for a living? You're a fitness type?"

"Hmm... let's just say I am flexible and engage in a wide variety of training."

Chuckling, Dean turns to look at Cas with a raised eyebrow. "Freelancing jack-of-all trades, huh?" Tents start to come into view, visible from a distance, mostly intense white with the scattered colourful tent and streamers.

"It is more impressive sounding than "between jobs." Seemingly, it's _literally impossible_ for Cas to turn off the irony and dry humour.

"Mmm, yeah. You could say I'm that way myself, so we're in the same boat."

"I thought this way a dry county."

"Not at all. There's some kind of Oktoberfest thing going on in the park, too. Though there _is_ Dry creek, we can check it out later if you want."

"I'd like that." They turn down 8th, coming up to the fair. Everything's clustered around the the Smoky Hill Museum, an older rectangular squat grey and brown building—flat as the plains around it—that very obviously used to be a post office. Lots of people are milling about, a good mix of young families, middle-aged people, and people around Dean's age. There seem to be quite a few men around Dean's age, in fact. _I wonder if he's come here before? I'll have to ask him later._

As they get closer, they see quite a few symbols ubiquitous with the sixties, and a couple of performers are playing rock music or folk songs from the same era. "There appears to be a '60s theme this year."

"Huh. I'm more about the '70s, but I ain't gonna' complain. Music was still pretty good, I guess."

 "That it was." Cas hums "hey Jude" in his gravelly baritone as they pick their way among the crowd, looking for the "boiling pot" chili competition. Dean looks over at him sharply, then smiles.

"You're a fan of the Beatles? Guess you're into all that hippy free love shit, huh?"

"Not really... just the one song. I was fond of "Gotta get you into my life" however, until I learned it was about marijuana."

 Dean chuckles, then his face falls as he notes a sign near the food tents: Chili cook-off cancelled. "Awww man, what gives? What the hell, seriously?"

Castiel looks down at his shoes as if he's somehow personally responsible. "We came all this way..." Dean looks up at his friend sharply in warning. Cas, seeing this out of the corner of his eye, looks up, gaze intent. "Let's make the best of it."

"That's the spirit. Can't let a lack of... the reason we came get us down. There's lots of other stuff to check out. Heck, there's even a zoo if that's your thing."

Nodding, Castiel flashes Dean a grateful smile. They kill some time wandering around the various food tents, trying different things, sharing with each-other: Cas making comical faces of dismay at things he doesn't enjoy; Dean laughing his ass off, spraying crumbs and bits of various things everywhere at the sight.

They take in the entertainment: bands, one of which is oddly enough a band from Lawrence; and a couple of clown acts, which Dean has zero shame in taking pictures and video of to terrorize Sam. Cas tries his hand at basket-weaving; his long deft fingers are surprisingly suited to the task, and Dean can't let that pass without making a crack.

 "You ever been to an insane asylum? I hear they do a lot of that there." He stops, eyes going wide and looks deeply uncomfortable. Cas rolls his eyes in reply and puts the bottom of the basket he's started weaving on Dean's head as a hat. With laughter, the awkward moment passes.

 Dean pauses in front of a soap-making exhibit and grins. "Gotta get my fight club on. Never know when this might come in handy."

"I highly doubt that will ever be the case." Castiel wanders off to a nearby bead-work stall and makes a simple bracelet for Sam.

Nonetheless, when he checks back in with Dean, he's come up with a clove-infused bar of lye soap. Leaning in close to Cas, he whispers conspiratorially, forgetting himself. "Imagine if we put some wolfsbane in here."

"I imagine acute skin-poisoning would ensue. Do you have a relative you wish to be rid of?" Cas tilts his head, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

Dean laughs. "No, just in case of werewolves, it'd be handy."

"Yes, because that is something you run into everyday," Cas says mildly. Dean punches him on the shoulder.  
   
A few hours have passed, and they've wandered through the museum, seen the exhibits about American presidents in the '60s, through the gift-shop and out the other side when Dean slaps Cas in the chest, grinning delightedly. "Holy crap, Cas! There's a spaghetti eating contest!"

"That is a phrase that fills me with trepidation. I see little point to such rampant displays of gluttony."

"What, you into the _funner_ sins, like wrath and lust?" Dean shots Cas a cocky smirk, one eyebrow raised.

"Are you that eager to see how much noodle one person can slurp down, Dean?" Cas is poker-faced as his gaze bores into Dean.

Not missing a beat, Dean replies "Maybe I just like to see people getting saucy."

"You are _incorrigible_."

"I know what you are, but what am I?"

"Trouble and sex on two bow legs."

"Cas!" Dean is scandalized, but then he rubs at the back of his neck and smiles a little. Swallowing, he remembers what they're supposed to be doing and flirts back. "You're not so bad, yourself." He bumps their shoulders together, and they wander over to the spaghetti eating contest.

 As promised: sauce flies as eight contestants vie to devour two pounds of noodles and one and a half pounds of sauce in the smallest amount of time possible. The winner emerges victorious and spattered everywhere with marinara in just over ten minutes. Her fellow contestants don't fare much better; they look like a crazed tribe of cannibals with distended bellies.

"Well, I am going to be ill." Cas slumps in his seat, clutching his stomach in sympathy.

"Aww c'mon Cas, that was awesome. Never would've thought a skinny little thing like that'd have it in her." Dean on the edge of his seat beside him, elbows on his knees.

With a grin, Cas regards his friend evenly, "I believe you owe me a drink."

Dean gets to his feet and offers a hand up. "Yeah, 's looking that way, handsome." Dean meant this ironically as Cas was looking grumpy and slightly green around the gills, but really, he looks good. The athletic wear shows off all his leanly muscled frame, the long column of his neck, and his improbably tanned calves. Dean doesn't know whether to thank Sam or damn him. Fortunately there's clown footage to torment his little brother with regardless.

 Taking Dean's outstretched hand, Cas plants his feet and leverages himself up. He pulls a little too hard and Dean is drawn in; Cas's lips brush his cheek and their chests bump together. His heart hammering, Dean is frozen for the couple of seconds it takes for Cas to draw back. But, he doesn't go far.

"Apologies," the angel murmurs from scant inches away.

"Huh? It's ok, it was an accident."

"This isn't." Before Dean can process it, Cas's lips cover his own and then are gone again, a dry rasp of butterfly wings. "That was forward of me," Cas says quietly, the shadows of his eyelashes long on his cheeks.

"Cas, is, is this a _date_?"

"I see no reason to dance around the issue. You are a very attractive man, Dean."

Cheeks burning, Dean can't seem to bring himself to meet Cas's gaze. _He's only doing what I told him to do. And holy crap, when did he get so suave?_ Swallowing thickly, Dean mutters, "I think I'll take you up on that drink." The crowd bustles around them, everyone getting up to leave their seats, and a few people jostle the pair. They snap out of their tableau and file out.

 They walk a few blocks to Blueskye Brewery—the town's one microbrew place—because Cas hasn't done that before. The sign outside proclaims it's won an award or two, so Dean figures there's probably at least one decent brew on tap. Inside, it's a long narrow rectangle, more grey and brown, relieved by a splash of orange paint on either side of the entrance to the kitchen and a couple of blackboards with the features on them.

Dean tries to relax as he slides onto an old-fashioned bar stool next to Cas, but he can't help being tense. _Is this what it would be like? Without all the baggage and crap, the history between us? Could it ever be this easy? I kinda' wish_... He doesn't let himself finish the thought. Thoughts like those were how you end up zapped four years into the future by asshole angels and paraded in front of pagan gods to have your soul judged.

 Picking up on the tension radiating off of Dean, but uncertain of what kind it is, Cas studies the blackboard menus intently. When the barkeep attends them, Dean is still lost in thought and stays silent. Cas can't make up his mind, so he orders a couple of taster paddles. "Surprise me."

For the most part, all the different beers are tasty; either crisp or easy to drink, a couple notes of citrus or coffee mixed in. There's only one sample Cas sips and then pushes away, which is some kind of "triple-hopped" IPA.

 Dean draws his index finger around the rim of one of the mostly undrank 4-oz glasses of beer, trying to make it ring. "So..." He wets his lips with a nervous flicker of tongue. "This the only kind of paddle you're into or are you a kinky bastard?" he meant it as light and joking, but it doesn't come out that way.

Cas isn't entirely certain what Dean means by that. "I'm more into knives."

Not knowing what to do with the ambiguous statement, Dean laughs. "Oh, so you like to mark your territory?" Desperately he pushes down memories of his time in Hell, and of things he's done since, tells himself he's just some Joe-schmoe who got chatted up and had an awesome date with a yoga instructor. It helps steady his hand and the beer glass produces a thin, eerie sound as he rubs at the rim.

"I'm not an animal who needs to urinate to mark its property. But, Dean..." Cas cups his jaw gently, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touch, "if you wish, I could spank you until you cry out for relief. My hand on your bottom, over and over until I know you’ll feel it every time you sit down. A reminder of who you belong to last for days, until you come to be marked anew." Cas trembles and his hand drops away from Dean like it's weighted by lead, expression going shuttered.  


  
 Dean gasps and knocks the beer over, making another time-out sign. "Cas, what the _Hell_! That is some **seriously** creepy shit to say!" _And I'm still marked. It's barely there, but you left a handprint on me a long time ago. I also can't believe you'd even say that given what happened a few weeks back... Yeah, you healed Sam and I both when we came back from Still Creek, but..._  
  
 Sitting back, the ashen-faced angel grabs a few napkins in an attempt to sop up the beer. "I am sorry if I misread the situation. At the time, I believed it was what you wished to hear."  
  
 Huffing, Dean signals the bartender for some more napkins and slumps on his stool. "That kind of stuff is for people in relationships, Cas, not casual hookups, even if you are into... the freaky shit. Not judging, just saying."  
  
Castiel looks up at him, blue eyes wide and dark. "You truly believe anything could ever be casual between us?"  
  
 The bartender comes with a rag and Dean is saved from having to reply. A minute later,  the bartender retreats with the soiled napkins and the hunter takes a deep breath. "Game on."  
  
"Do you wish to get out of here?"  
  
"I...yeah. Let's check out the river." Dean gets the check. Slowly, they head west down Iron avenue to Founder's Park to wait out the alcohol in the gathering dusk. The serpentine twining of the Smoky Hill River tributary beside the park is beautiful in the autumnal twilight; it's sunk down deeply after the dry summer, grass on the edges turned lush again with the scattered rain and waning hours of daylight, lichen growing in interesting patterns on the rocks.  
  
 The silence between them isn't quite companionable; it holds an edge. Castiel follows Dean's lead, as he nearly always has since he's met him. So it's the hunter who breaks the silence first.  
  
"Cas I, I had a really nice time today."  Dean deeply hates how much of a chick that makes him sound like, but he's trying to push through, trying to show Castiel what normal looks like. After all, most of the time in their line of work the object would be to get access to someone's house, right?  
  
 "I did as well, Dean. May I take your hand?"  
  
 Blinking against the lump in his throat and the jangling of his nerves, Dean bites down on his lip and his automatic reply of _I'm not a girl, dammit_. Wordlessly, he offers his hand.  
  
 To his surprise, Castiel wraps a small bracelet made of three strings of jade green, brown and white beads around his wrist, and gives his hand a squeeze.  
  
"Cas? When did you.... what is this?" Dean tilts his wrist up to catch the fading orange light of the sun, and something about the pattern looks vaguely familiar.  
  
"I made it while you were making soap. It's your name in Enochian."  
  
Dean rubs his hand along the beads, blinking in surprise. "You... made me a friendship bracelet?"  
  
 The angel stares through him, meeting his gaze calmly. "Yes. I made one for Sam as well, but as I suspected time was growing short, it is not so ornate." Cas holds it out for inspection, and yeah, it's a simple blue bracelet with a single white character in the middle, probably the closest Enochian has to offer to the letter "S."  
  
"You incredible _dork_ ," Dean laughs, touched despite himself. Everything falls away for just a moment, and he pulls Cas to him. "C'mere," he murmurs huskily. Cupping the sides of the angel's face, Dean plants a kiss square on his mouth. It's deeper than the one earlier; as the crickets start to chirp and the frogs start to croak, there is only the here and now. The press of lips is soft and sweet as the susurrus of autumn leaves; Cas tentatively responds, hands coming to rest on Dean's shoulders. Dean's heart races and every single pore of his skin is acutely aware of where it presses up against his friend. Eventually, the kiss ends, and they rest their foreheads together. Cas's hands have traveled down to Dean's hips.  
  
"Was that a kiss goodnight?"  
  
"It was a kiss hello." Dean twines their fingers together.

"You're really not a good benchmark for other humans, Dean."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Meg taught me how to "french kiss"." Castiel looks slightly sly.

"Oh yeah? You'll have to show me sometime." Blushing a little, Dean grins up at Cas.

"Does sometime mean now?"

"Maybe."

They stroll down a little ways to sit leaning against the riverbank and make out like teenagers as the sun sets. It's sloppy, messy, and full of passion, just like their history.  They stay in Salina that night; the bunker is still there the next morning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this! Please take a moment to drop me a note and tell me what you liked (or disliked).


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